Florida Knight

by Blair Bancroft

  “When did you eat last?”

  “What?”

  “Michael . . . when was the last time you had something to eat?”

  “Some nice gray-haired lady stuck a sandwich in my hand about noon. I think. Or maybe that was yesterday.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Frowning, Michael thought about it. “I don’t think so. I recall getting handed endless cups of coffee, a string of sandwiches, but I don’t think I’ve had any food today. Things were calming down a bit, so the volunteers went home to a well-deserved rest. Today, since nobody fed me, I didn’t eat.” About three, I finally went home, checked my messages, showered, changed, and drove over here.”

  “You’re in luck,” Kate declared briskly. “Cooking for one isn’t much fun, so when I do cook, I make enough for leftovers plus the freezer. Tonight it was chili, and there’s enough for an army.”

  Michael leaned back in the platform rocker, closed his eyes. He ought to make some smart-ass remark about Miss Macho cooking for him. Or maybe about sitting in this g.d. lavender chair, but it felt so good. The scotch was cold and smooth, sliding down like manna from heaven. The chair was man-size, fitting his weary body as if made for him. The little sounds Kate made as she rattled utensils and pans, brought back memories of home and mother. Not that he hadn’t had a line-up of women wanting to cook for him, but somehow it never felt like this. Must be the two drinks on an empty stomach. On top of being so damned tired. Michael guided the scotch to his lips without opening his eyes.

  Something sharp stung his leg. The lavender rocker quivered as Michael sat bolt upright. The four-letter word which blued the air only brought a chortle from Kate.

  “Sorry,” she said. “That’s Ace. He’s not very brave, probably hid under the chair when you came in. But he finally got bored and decided to attack your shoelaces instead.”

  “Obviously, he can’t distinguish shoelaces from skin,” Michael growled, balefully eyeing the gray and white striped cat. He had come dangerously close to kicking the damn thing across the room, but recalled in the nick of time that the aggressive little monster undoubtedly belonged to Kate. Angering her was definitely not on the agenda at the moment.

  Kate slid a bowl of chili onto the table, added a salad of mixed greens, a tall glass of iced tea. “You can come and get it,” she announced.

  This was the first time he’d relaxed in more than seventy-two hours; Michael wasn’t at all sure he was going to be able to get up and make it the few steps across the room. But there the Valkyrie stood—nearly six full feet of her—daring him to get up. He swallowed a groan, levered himself up by bracing his hands on the fat lavender arms of the chair. Lavender. Was she? . . . No, no way. The girl was celibate, not gay. Celibate. Remember that, Turco. Think nun. Not that he was capable of anything more than a stray lustful thought at the moment.

  Oh, hell, there was even a small bowl of chopped onion and a container of hot pepper flakes. The smell of the steaming chili hit him. Michael collapsed onto the kitchen chair and dove in.

  Sometime after his second bowl of chili, his third helping of salad, and three vanilla creme cookies, Michael managed a mumbled thank-you. “So why are you being so nice after I was such a bastard?” he inquired.

  “Feminine instinct,” Kate tossed back. “Some atavistic urge that says a hungry man must be fed. Even if it was the devil who was hungry, we’d probably feed him.”

  “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  Kate’s lips quirked into a naughty grin. Ignoring Michael’s sarcasm, she assured him he was welcome. “Think you’re up to trying on your costume now?”

  Michael buried his head in his hands. “Lord, woman, I’d hoped you’d forgotten.”

  “No way. The weekend is practically on us.” Kate broke off. “You can get away, can’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Michael sighed, “the worst is over. Except for the poor guy’s family, and the construction crews who’ll have to work round the clock on the bridge. There’s a lot more paper work, but there shouldn’t be any problem.”

  “How early can you get off on Friday?”

  “Four.”

  “Good. I get off at one, so I’ll have everything packed and ready to go, including your costumes. You’ll need a toothbrush, underwear, razor—that kind of thing. I’ll have everything else.”

  “Costumes?” Michael didn’t care for the plural.

  “I told you.” Kate sighed. “You need day wear and feast wear. I’m providing your feast gear, so you needn’t worry about that.”

  It was a foreign language. He’d conquer this as he did everything else. And not by shouting. He’d learn the damned LALOC lingo if it killed him.

  “Okay, let’s do it,” Michael growled. He shoved back his chair and stood, pleased to discover his legs had recovered their spring.

  “No way. No way in hell!” Michael’s shout sent Ace scurrying back under the lavender rocker. “These things are harem pants!”

  “Eunuchs wore them too,” Kate replied smoothly, reaching for a pin.

  “Just because you’re—“

  ”Don’t say it!”

  “I can’t wear these things!”

  “It’s that or tights.”

  “I wouldn’t be caught dead in tights.”

  “Even Bubba wears these.”

  “Bubba? Bubba the giant?” Michael stared down at Kate’s blond braid as she pinned the hem on the long full pants.

  “Yes. He looks as if he belongs in one of those Arabian Nights movies. The ultimate guardian of the harem.”

  “Somehow I can’t see Bubba as a eunuch.”

  “He might as well be one,” Kate sighed. “I don’t think he and Mona will ever be able to afford children.”

  Michael snapped his jaw closed over the words on the tip of his tongue. Fighting over a pair of pants suddenly seemed childish. Well, hell, if Bubba wore them . . . Of course, if Kate was pulling his leg . . . Michael pictured her long, long legs in transparent harem pants, hanging below a waistline low enough to reveal her belly button, a skimpy Genie top, a perky hat and veil. Oh, yeah, that’s where harem pants belonged. Definitely.

  “Michael. Michael!” Kate the Pragmatic burst his fantasy. “You like the shirt and tunic, don’t you?”

  “Uh–they’re great,” he mumbled. He’d never admit it, but the black tunic with gray and silver trim and the full-sleeved black shirt, which Kate called a Renaissance shirt, were pretty darn sexy. He’d frowned over the ruffled neck, but Kate had simply laughed at him. He was expected to dress up for Feast, she informed him in the no-nonsense tones of a mother addressing a reluctant pre-teen.

  “Now that I’ve got your height right,” Kate said as she sat back on her heels, checking the pants hems, “I’ll run up another pair. Something in a fancier fabric for Feast.” She gave him another assessing look. “A silver medallion, I think . . . on a long chain. That will be perfect.”

  “I am not wearing jewelry!”

  Kate looked up, batted her lashes. “You don’t have time to get your ears pierced before the weekend?” she inquired sweetly.

  “Kate Knight, you’re not going to live that long.”

  “Maybe you’d prefer a necklace of bears’ teeth.”

  Michael considered. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “I was joking. We’re not outfitting you as a barbarian. You’d have to wear fur, and that just doesn’t suit the climate. Don’t worry,” Kate added as she rose to her feet, “I’ll find something you can live with. My storage shed is full of stuff. That’s what I do, remember? When I’m not just enjoying LALOC, I design and sell costuming.”

  “Okay, okay, I stand corrected.” Michael sighed. “That’s what you’re here for. To turn the reluctant cop into a knight errant.” Trouble was, it wasn’t going to work. Then again, Kate wasn’t trying to pass him off as a White Knight in Shining Armor. Sensible woman, she recognized futility when she saw it.

  “You can change now,” Kate told him, nodding
toward the bedroom. She avoided looking at Michael as she fussed with her scissors and pins. Avoided thinking about him in her bedroom. Undressing in her bedroom. She’d made the mistake of looking up once during the pants fitting. All the way from the floor, up the full length of him. Past the full black pants, the incredibly sexy black shirt, the glimpse of equally dark curly hair peeking through the long slit in the shirt front, up to the craggy face, the uncompromisingly short straight black hair. Her insides churned. She thought about the feel of him, the clean, head-spinning male smell of him. When she’d tightened the elastic at his waist, her fingers had fumbled over the blasted safety pin.

  It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She’d gotten by all these years. Not one of the highly macho LALOC knights had ever made her feel like this. She didn’t want to feel like this. There was no room for feminine softness in her life. She’d had to feed him, that was an instinct she couldn’t ignore. Sex, however, could be repressed. She was good at that. Experienced.

  But she couldn’t repress a nagging question. Had he ever been married? Dear God, perhaps he was married! She didn’t have the nerve to ask. But, surely, before they spent a weekend together, she ought to know.

  When Michael came back into the living room, wearing jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, Kate was relieved. He looked a lot better than he had when he arrived. And far less lethal than when dressed as the man who would be known to LALOC as Raven.

  “Remember,” she said, “as soon after four as you can make it on Friday.”

  “Right.” Michael didn’t move. “Kate?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks.” They both knew the thanks was for more than the costumes, more than the food.

  Kate started to smile, discovered she couldn’t. Her emotions were so tangled, they were unrecognizable. “Goodnight,” she managed.

  The door closed behind him. The 4Runner cranked into life. Tires scrunched on the shell and gravel drive. He was gone.

  Kate’s legs gave way. She sat down hard on a kitchen chair. Relief. Glorious relief.

  For about ten seconds.

  However was she going to survive actually living with him for the weekend?

  Chapter 6

  “You’re what?” The rolled-up sleeping bag Mona Ellis had been holding above her head thudded onto the driveway. From Kate’s vantage point on the roof of the van, she stared down at her friend. She huffed a sigh as she sank onto a mound of tenting equipment already stacked on top of the burgundy Dodge Ram.

  It was Thursday night. Before leaving for his new job stocking groceries at the local Publix, Bubba had slung the bags of tent equipment on top of the van with his customary ease, given the girls a big grin and a wave before setting off to work on his bicycle. Secretly, each girl prayed this was the job he could keep. That Bubba wouldn’t forget what he was supposed to do. That the manager wouldn’t find him intimidating. That the teenagers working beside him wouldn’t decide he was the evening’s entertainment.

  Mona had been jarred out of her worry over Bubba by Kate’s sudden pronouncement from on high. They were adding a fourth person to their LALOC road trip. “Tell me!” she demanded, tilting her head back to look up at Kate, the sleeping bag forgotten at her feet.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Kate insisted, determined on nonchalance. “He’s another one of Barbara’s fixer-uppers. One I couldn’t say no to.” Keeping your lies as close to the truth as possible was excellent advice, but Kate doubted she could take this line of reasoning much farther.

  “Kate,” Mona enunciated slowly, “you’ve said no to every last one of your boss’s so-called dates. You’ve turned down every hunky and not-so-hunky male in LALOC. You’ve given the cold shoulder to every guy who hit on you any time, anywhere. So why, for heaven’s sake, are you taking on this one?”

  Kate ducked her head, studied a softly swaying strand of hot pink bougainvillea that trailed onto the mound of tenting. She was caught. There was only one possible explanation which Mona would accept, and it was absolutely, positively not in her to give it. It was the Big Lie. Contrary to all her tightly held principles.

  Who was she kidding? She wanted it to be a lie, but the words came out with disconcerting truthfulness. “I guess this one’s different,” she mumbled, still examining the bright curving branch of bougainvillea.

  “Oh, my God!” Mona’s jaw dropped, her eyes shone. “It’s happened? It’s really happened? You’ve fallen for a guy!” Mona bounced up and down on the gravel while Kate cringed at every chortle. “Oh, wow, wait’ll I tell Bubba. He’s gonna go nuts. He’ll be so pleased. I’m pleased. Kate, this is great!”

  “Look . . . it’s nothing,” Kate protested. Weakly. “He was interested in LALOC. I agreed to take him with us. Nothing may come of it at all.”

  Mona shook her head. “That is so lame. The man’s a hunk. Not a pretty boy, a real macho-man hunk. I saw him, remember? I thought he was mad at you, but he was charging along like that ’cuz he was eager to see you.” Mona heaved an elaborate sigh.

  Kate’s head shot up. Not all the undercover necessity in the world was going to make her swallow that one. “Mona, you’d make a romance out of a wrestling match. Believe me, he was angry that night. Spoiling for a fight. This weekend is nothing more than an experiment. I’m keeping my boss happy and–um–sort of testing the waters.”

  “Testing the waters! Girl, you’ve jumped off the deep end, clothes and all.” Mona bent down, picked up the sleeping bag, emphasizing her words by thrusting it toward Kate. “If you think that man’s some tame pussy cat like Ace you can share your bed with, you’re out of your mind.”

  “We’re not sharing a bed.” Kate turned her back on Mona, fitting the bag onto the pile of equipment. This was the last of the stuff for the roof. Ignoring Mona, Kate set about spreading a heavy canvas cover over everything.

  “That man’s a tiger,” Mona lectured, feet firmly planted on the gravel as she watched Kate work. “There’s no way he’s gonna stand for that celibate crap you’re always giving out. Even if he believes it, he’s just gonna consider it a challenge.”

  Silence. Kate tugged on a tie rope, crawled toward the other side of the roof.

  “Kate Knight, it’s high time you found a man tougher than you are,” Mona called. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Kate did a double hitch on the far rail, clambered back toward Mona. She peered over the edge. “I don’t know a thing except I couldn’t say no,” she hissed. “Okay? So let it go, Mona. He’s going with us. And that’s that. The rest I’ll have to deal with as we go along. And tell Bubba not to tease him.”

  “Sure.” Mona’s reply was automatic. She was busy considering her friend’s words, the knife-edged chip on Kate’s shoulder which had suddenly blunted enough to allow a man into her life. There was something very strange here. Kate seldom slammed a door in her face. About her life before Golden Beach, yes. About the here and now, no. This Michael Gibbs must be someone very special. Or he had a hold on Kate. Or Barbara Falk had a hold on Kate . . . Somehow that made more sense. Kate, the invincible, was having her arm twisted.

  Mona began to worry. She’d have to spout sweetness and light to Bubba or they’d be mopping Michael Gibbs up off the ground. She’d have to play it by ear, discover for herself what the man was like, figure what the tiger was doing in the midst of LALOC lambs. Well . . . the fighters would get pretty hot if they heard her call them lambs. But somehow Mona didn’t think Michael Gibbs fought his battles with bamboo poles padded with duct tape. It was easier to picture him as Indiana Jones in that famous scene where Indy pulls out a gun and shoots the whip-wielding villain dead. Yeah, that suited the Michael Gibbs she’d seen storming up Kate’s driveway.

  Mona sighed. It was either high romance. Or violent disaster. She wished she knew which.

  “What’s all that?” Michael demanded on Friday afternoon, regarding the canvas-covered mound on the roof of the van as if he were about to call out the drug-sniffing dogs.

 
“Camping equipment.”

  “Camping?” Michael realized he should have asked more questions about the LALOC event. Fine investigator he was.

  “We’re emulating Medieval Times. Did you expect a motel?”

  “Of course not,” Michael snapped. He hadn’t expected anything. He’d been too damn busy to think about it. Well, not too busy to think about spending a weekend with Kate Knight, but camping equipment had not entered his thoughts at all. The possibilities were . . . interesting, to say the least.

  “I’ve provided everything,” Kate said. “Sleeping bag, pillow, towel, wash cloth, soap. I hope you remembered your toothbrush and a razor.”

  Change gears, Turco. Not a hint of what you’re thinking! Don’t scare her off. “Uh–Kate, I must owe you quite a bit by now. Costumes, the camping stuff. How much?”

  “I’ll send you a bill one of these days. Bring out the coolers in the kitchen, will you?” Kate turned her back, ostentatiously straightening the row of costumes hanging from a wooden railing across the rear of the van.

  Michael didn’t move. “Kate . . . if we’re going to carry off this little masquerade, we have to act like we’re–uh–a couple. You need to be at least . . . friendly . . . look at me occasionally. Smile. You remember what a smile is? You sort of turn up the corners of your mouth?”

  Kate gave a last tweak to Mona’s veil so it wouldn’t be crushed, turned to glare at him. “When was the last time you tried it?” she taunted.

  “Kate,” he sighed, “this isn’t going to work if you don’t— Oh, hi, Bubba.” Michael stifled a wince as Kate’s giant neighbor slapped him on the back. His introduction to Mona Ellis was tougher yet. She looked him over as if she was trying to judge if he was a stud or the lowest slime on the horizon. He was relieved to have the coolers as an excuse to escape her piercing assessment. With Bubba’s help, he loaded the two heavy containers into the rear of the van behind the rack of costumes.